PMS
by WinterWhirls
Summary: Olivia is angry, and poor Elliot is confused. REPOSTED.


MARCH 17TH, 3:42 A.M.

The phone rings three times before she realizes that the insistent noise isn't part of her dream, and she startles awake. Groaning loudly, she rolls over and stretches blindly, fingers fumbling for the receiver on her nightstand. She knocks her watch onto the floor in the process.

"Benson," slurs, slapping a hand over her eyes and rubbing the sleep from their corners.

"Liv -," Elliot starts, apologetically, knowing that the late nights have been accumulating recently.

"Fuck no," she moans, sighing loudly into the mouthpiece.

"Pick you up in twenty," Elliot sympathizes, and then there is a small click and the dial tone buzzes loudly in her ear.

She wants to fucking sleep. She doesn't even want to move. She most definitely has no inclination to go out into the cold and stand in an alleyway with suspicious men and rotting corpses. She flops down ungracefully onto the mattress and sulks there for a minute, before hauling herself up again and picking up the clothes she'd kicked into the corner earlier.

* * *

><p>MARCH 17TH, 4:07 A.M.<p>

"G'morning, sunshine," Elliot quips with an annoying grin plastered onto his face as she opens the door to the sedan. She hates him for being a morning person, and the light from the sedan's overhead bulb makes her look slightly ill as she catches a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror.

"Hey," she sighs, and accepts the coffee he holds out to her and climbs into the front seat. Ignoring her seatbelt, she takes the lid off the steaming cup and pops two Advil into her mouth with her first sip.

"Sick?" He asks casually, pulling into the light traffic.

"No." She leans her head back and closes her eyes.

"Oh."

She glances at him out of the corner of one barely open eye. "Why?"

"I don't know. You took Advil."

"I'm fine," she reinforces, taking another sip of her warm drink. "Does this have two sugars?"

"Yeah," he says as he looks over his shoulder before merging. "Put it in myself."

"Doesn't really taste like it."

He begins to chuckle.

"What?" she grouses, challenging him. The fight is in her, swirling angrily in her stomach. There is a tiger in her chest, a ball of fire in her stomach, both chomping at the bit to escape.

Rolling her eyes, she leans against the door and closes her eyes again.

"Don't fall asleep," he warns with that irritating grin still glued to his mouth.

"Fuck you," she mumbles.

* * *

><p>"Don't <em>touch <em>it, Elliot."

"I have a glove."

"You weren't going to use it."

He stares at her with raised eyebrows. She can't help but notice how huge it makes his forehead look. "I'm pretty sure I know how to do this. Back off, Olivia." He turns back to the evidence lying on the ground at the crime scene, and is careful to put on his glove slowly, carefully, obviously, all the while staring at her like she is a small child, making sure to make is actions blatantly obvious. The uniform next to them snickers under his breath, and Elliot ignores her. She knows she pisses him off when she's like this.

She goes to talk to Melinda.

She hears him chuckle at her retreating form, and it makes the fire in her stomach swell again.

* * *

><p>"What?" she snaps, when she looks up from her computer for the third time and catches her partner eyeing her wearily.<p>

"Oh, nothing," he says, looking innocently back down at his work.

"Stop looking at me."

"Liv, I wasn't."

"I don't care. Just don't do it, okay?"

Elliot raises his arms by his head in a motion of surrender, and he's got the obnoxious grin stretched across his face again, the one that he uses when he's laughing at her.

She shakes her head, turning opening her desk drawer and tipping another Advil into her palm. She downs it with the coffee sitting on her desk, and arches her back while digging her fingers into the area around her tailbone, trying to relieve the churning, all too painful cramp with a quick massage.

* * *

><p>MARCH 17TH, 8:55 P.M.<p>

They catch dinner together once the case is closed.

"Long day," he tries, walking on eggshells. He's very much aware of her newfound touchiness, and of the consequences he faces if he pisses her off.

She sighs. "I know." She sips her wine and rubs her eyebrow with the nail of her thumb, a nervous habit she's always had. "I'm sorry I've been such a bitch."

He freezes in the middle of chewing, staring up at her under a furrowed brow. He swallows slowly. "…Is that a trick question?" He holds his breath.

To his relief, Olivia shakes her head and smirks. "No."

Elliot steals her water. "Everyone has bad days," he shrugs.

She leans her face in her palms. "It's been a bad fucking year," she mumbles.

Elliot smiles sympathetically, and leans forward. "And I'll bet Amelia Damore is going to be okay tonight," he says, referring to their teenage victim, "Because today she had someone to talk to."

Olivia sighs. "I'm tired," she mumbles, eyeing him with swollen lids.

"I'll take you home," Elliot offers, pushing back from the table and reaching for his wallet.

* * *

><p>MARCH 17TH, 9:38 P.M.<p>

"Thanks for the ride," she yawns, dumping her bag just inside the door and toeing off her boots. "You can crash on the couch if you want."

"Yeah," he sighs. "Thanks."

"But don't spill coffee on my sheets again," she warns, as she tugs fresh linen out of the hallway closet and places it on the back of the couch. Despite her grouchiness, she smiles at him and gives a wave of her hand as a way of saying goodnight before she retreats down the hall to her bedroom. "Make yourself at home," she calls.

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

><p>MARCH 18TH, 2:09 A.M.<p>

Elliot wakes in the middle of the night with pressure in his bladder, and tiptoes through her bedroom in order to reach the bathroom, only accessible through the doorway leading from Olivia's room. Olivia sleeps deeply, her arms flung over her head and the covers twisted around her waist. She frowns in her sleep, and Elliot knows she's been under stress lately. He should start pissing her off about taking some vacation time again.

Elliot uses the washroom and washes his hands, bending down to retrieve the towel that he'd knocked on the ground with his hip as he leaned over the sink.

He notices the bottom drawer under the sink is open, and so he closes it, catching a glimpse of a box of tampons as he pushes it shut.

Something clicks in his head, and he smiles knowingly.

Before he goes back to sleep, Elliot fills up a glass of water and places two Advil on his partner's bedside table.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you think :)<p> 


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